


So Far Gone

by somethingofatrainwreck



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, F/M, Friendship/Love, House Party, Rivalry, Sexual Content, Slow Burn, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-29
Updated: 2016-12-15
Packaged: 2018-05-23 21:33:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 17,324
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6130774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/somethingofatrainwreck/pseuds/somethingofatrainwreck
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bellamy Blake found his kingdom in a well-loved dump at the end of a dead end street. For a long time that was enough- and then a blazing meteor of blonde hair and blue eyes and some kind of soul-shaking hope comes crashing down into his life. </p><p>The crater she leaves makes everything he’s proud of look insignificant, so King Bellamy happily gives up his throne.</p><p>You know….after a couple of years of intense struggle that begins and ends with Clarke Griffin</p><p>aka: The Tale of Two Hundred Parties.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Intro Talking

**Author's Note:**

> So.....this is just for fun - and it's full of references: songs, books, TV shows, movies, people, and fads - if you recognize it odds are you've found one.
> 
>  
> 
> Enjoy!

_Intro Talking_

 

Their story is a mixtape – a sloppy pre-Youtube mixtape with eight contradicting styles of music that transitions between songs like a mood swing. It’s all very loud, admittedly cliché, and sometimes it’s not clear what the holy hell is going on. Their vibe is as much like kicking back and relaxing as it is falling straight down the rabbit hole: bass drops, lyrics about being young and reckless, a few catchy hooks, and maybe one too many curse words. Theirs is a mixtape recorded in a stuffy ill-lit basement – borne out of boredom and frustration and being at the right place at the right time. If it was anything more than what it actually is – a low-grade tragedy with a good soundtrack – they’d call it destiny.

It starts with Ned the Pizza kid. 

Well _it_ doesn’t start with him – _they_ didn’t start with him – but this did. This thing where they all crowd around the window in the living room trying to make out her shadow amongst the freaks down the street. 

Ned’s not even that great of a place to start from because at that point it didn’t seem like that big of a deal. She was pissed, she was going through something, the girl they knew and loved had taken a bit of a psychological vacation and this new girl….well, she was a problem. 

But don’t misunderstand, it really wasn’t all that surprising. Bellamy Blake always knew that Clarke Griffin would be a problem- since the very first time he saw her.

Which is probably the best place to start.

In Bellamy’s second year at ASU, he found his kingdom in a well-loved dump at the end of a dead-end street.

81 Beach St was an old two story house four blocks from the campus and easily 300 miles away from an actual beach. It had been built in the 80’s by a former frat boy who decided to make a living renting sub-par properties to desperate college students.

_3 bedrooms, 2 bathrooms. Partially furnished. Within walking distance of campus and Mainstreet. $1200 a semester plus utilities._

The siding was a horrible faded blue with a rusted tin shed where the maintenance guys kept the lawn mowers they used about twice a year. It had a tiny driveway bordered by a fence with holes big enough for the alley cats to slip through and a crooked mailbox with _The Cliffords_ printed on it in block letters (no one knows exactly who the fuck the Cliffords are). The sidewalk was cracked and ¾s of the boards on the front porch were loose but the front door had two sturdy locks. Its roof was patchy and faded, so it leaked in the upstairs bathroom sometimes, but the landlord swore it had something to do with the pipes (which made absolutely no goddamn sense). It had a washer and dryer older than any enrolled student and a fridge that only worked if it was turned at a 40 degree angle. 

It had survived a fire, 3 record heat waves, and termites. The carpets smelled like weed and the paint was peeling in just about every room, but goddamn did it have a nice backyard. 

The fence was shit and the grass was almost always dead, but it faced the woods and didn’t have neighbor on either side – only the crap shack further up the street. There was a dinky little patio, two small trees, and three or four tattered old cigarette buckets that had been passed down from renter to renter for decades (2 decades that is). 

Bellamy had signed the lease for the yard. He knew the house wasn’t the only affordable shithole in town, but it was really important that he had a decent place to sit around, stare at the sky, and listen to his friends bullshit about dropping out of school to start a rap label. 

That August, Miller saved a couple lawn chairs from his dad’s yard sale, Murphy stole an inflatable pool from a Dollar Store, and Bellamy took the untangled strands of white Christmas lights from their storage unit, and together they created a sort of paradise (before they even bothered to unpack their shit). 

Things go well that first year. They get a grill (Miller likes cooking grilled cheeses on it when he’s high) and one of those hammocks with two poles that screw into the ground. They even let Atom and his frat use the yard for their annual beer pong tournament. The cops only show up when the idiots that live in the crapshack get sick of their parties (and once because they mistook the sounds of Murphy watching his team lose the Stanley Cup for someone being viciously murdered.) Bellamy is truly happy with their shitty little home, King of his own little oasis.

And then a fiery meteor of blonde hair and blue eyes and some kind of soul-shaking hope comes crashing down into his life. The crater she leaves makes everything he’s proud of look insignificant and so King Bellamy happily gives up his throne.

You know….after a couple of years of intense struggle that begins and ends with Clarke Griffin. 

 

**Track 1: _Houston we’re kicking it in the epicenter of the next great disaster, prepare for countdown_**

 

He didn’t usually let people smoke in his house. That was one of the rules – the core rules – the ones that if broken meant someone was Paying the Piper (that was Murphy’s whimsical little name for the empty plastic pretzel jug that was full of horrendous, emotionally and physically painful punishments, handwritten on little pieces of paper.) Between the three of them – Bellamy, Miller, and Murphy – they’d created a doctrine of rules, half of which where obscure _you had to be there_ kind of things the other half were mostly references to old Drake lyrics that very few people ever picked up on. 

Other than “never get fresh with a freshman, ” _this house is smoke-free_ was pretty much the most easily understood of all the rules – but also the most frequently broken. Of course none of that really mattered because this night was a special occasion. 

Their asshole neighbors- the only other house on their street- had finally graduated and the rickety old house they’d lived in for years was now vacant. That meant no more battling for parking spaces, or having the cops called on them every weekend, or getting the wrong pizza delivery because their addresses were so similar.

Now they were the only occupants of the best dead end street in town. They didn’t have to be quiet. They didn’t have to be courteous. It was what they had been waiting for for two years. Just because they didn’t live on frat-row doesn’t mean they don’t have the right to experience the frat-row lifestyle. It’s college for fuck’s sake. 

So because the windows of that old fucking house stayed dark, Bellamy was in such a good mood that he didn’t care about the cloud of smoke covering most of the house or the fact that his sister, little freshman Octavia Blake had decided to make this her first official college party.

It was an inevitability. “You two are cut from the same cloth,” Miller had told him, “and anyway isn’t it better that she’s here than somewhere on Frat –Row or the Mountain?”

It was – but Bellamy was still a little bitter about it.

He was glad she decided to come to his school, he really was. Octavia was the only family he really had and he missed her terribly when he was away- but the thing was that by being away at school for the last couple of years, Bellamy missed a serious transition in Octavia’s life. She’d pretty much become a social butterfly and sure that was great- except her skirts were a bit too short and her ears had a few new piercings, and somewhere along the line she had learned the proper way to do a tequila shot. 

She wasn’t little O anymore. She was an eighteen-year-old freshman college girl whose brother had the best backyard in town. He was perfectly fine with her coming around as much as she did, but “hey Bell I missed you” turns into “hey Bell we really need a place to drink this six pack” pretty quickly. And the way she rolls her eyes every time he gets upset makes it pretty obvious that they’ve reached the point in their big brother/ little sister relationship where Octavia just doesn’t give a fuck what he thinks….about anything.

But still- if she’s going to party, he’d rather her be at his party…even if she brings a herd of weirdos with her.

“I have been called a myriad of insulting names since I enrolled here. It’s truly a statement of how diverse the college experience can be, I mean I’ve been called everything from a putz to an ignoramus- I fell asleep at the drama club’s midnight Macbeth show last month – this guy called me a “vain brazen-faced foot-licker” which I mean- as far as insults go caught me pretty off guard.” 

Bellamy gives the kid a disinterested nod.

“Then of course some girl screamed “fuckboy” at me from her car window so- it can go either way, best of both worlds you know.”

Bellamy shoots him a tight smile and hands him a plastic bag full of the ice he’d been picking out of the cooler.

“And I have to say – your sister has one of the most colorful vocabularies I’ve ever heard. She has rejected me so many times I’m not even offended anymore, but that girl that came with her tonight – she’s fucking terrifying.”

He narrows his eyes – apparently this kid knows his sister, and by extension somehow knows him. “What’s your name?”

“Jasper Jordan.”

“Freshman?”

“Technically.” With the baggy pressed soundly to his right eye, Jasper Jordan drains his plastic cup and tries to pass his gag off as a small cough. Bellamy knows he’s heard that name before – one of Octavia’s stories maybe. He glances around to see if there’s anything else of interest in the room. When all he sees is Murphy hustling a bunch of unknowing sophomores in poker, he gives the kid a little bit more of his attention.

“So this girl O brought with her,” he prompts, “she the one that blackened your eye?”

“Oh no I did that- well I mean she was sort of responsible. I was trying to talk to her and she was lecturing me about drug use, because I may or may have not misleadingly indicated that I could provide her with something that would help her have a good time because she was just sitting there looking all pissed off- so she started telling me exactly how easy it would be for me to overdose based on my height and weight and body mass. So I tried to quickly get away from her- which is understandable I think considering she was one more personal question away from predicting the exact day I’ll die- I turned around too fast and sort of....walked into the front door.”

Bellamy raises his eyebrows, “Sounds traumatic.”

“Yeah,” Jasper nods, “You know you should really do something about her – she’s sucking all the party out of the party.”

Bellamy sucks in a breath and glances through the crowd of people into the living room. 

“Where is she?” he asks.

“Last I saw her she was sitting on the stairs by the front door,” as Bellamy takes a step away from him Jasper reaches out and grabs his arm- which he immediately retracts as Bellamy glares down at it with ferocious intensity. “just be careful,” he advises.

It’s mostly boredom that encourages him to investigate. He’s in a great mood but its still been a slow night – ironically not fearing the inevitable knocking of a cop at the door takes a lot of the excitement out of the whole party thing.

Or maybe he’s just getting old.

His eyes scan the smoke filled room, past the group of girls taking a selfie on the couch, and two guys who may or may not be having a rap battle over by the TV. He looks for a gap in the crowd – where people may be fleeing a morbid wet-mop with an obviously passionate anti-drug and anti-party agenda. 

Then he spots her, a blonde girl dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt picking at the label of a water bottle trapped between her knees as she sits on the bottom step. She looks familiar – in more than just the typical _I’ve walked past you on campus_ kind of way. He remembers the kid saying something about her coming with Octavia so he approaches her with cocky smile on his face. 

Leaning against the banister of the stairs he looks down at her. She’s pretty – _my daddy may be president one day_ kind of pretty, _I lived in a yellow house with a white picket fence and a beautiful garden to help provide me with three perfectly balanced organic meals a day_ kind of pretty, out of his league kind of pretty, the kind of pretty that frankly takes too much time and effort.

But she does stick out like a sore thumb- not just because of her blue eyes – but because she looks like she’d be having more fun sitting in line at the DMV. So it’s worth a try- and if anything who knows, she may be able to tell him the day he’ll die. That has to be worth something.

“How’s it going?” he asks – with an over-exaggerated amount of enthusiasm because something about this girl makes him pretty sure that picking an argument with her would be unbelievably entertaining. 

Just like he expects she rolls her eyes without looking up. “Great,” she says.

“Really? You wouldn’t know it from that look on your face.”

She lets out a disgruntled sigh and scoots away from him so that her right side is pressed up against the wall.

“Listen I don’t know-“

Finally she looks at him and holds up her hand, “Yes I go to school here, no I’m not alone I came with friends, I don’t want anything to eat, I’m perfectly fine sitting all by myself, I don’t dance, smoking is disgusting, I don’t need a boyfriend, and I have no intention of giving you my phone number. I’m just sitting her minding my own business, please go back to your party.”

His mouth is sort of hanging open when she finishes- she seems to take that as a sign of victory and gives him one small nod before looking back down at her water bottle. 

“First of all,” he finally says, “I live here- so it’s entirely possibly that I just needed you to take your pity party elsewhere so I could get upstairs.”

With a withering glare she shoots to her feet and steps away from him, gesturing for him to walk past. When he gets a good look at her sweatshirt ASU SOFTBALL – he starts to connect the dots in his head. His slow smile of realization only seems to make her more frustrated. 

“I know who you are,” he says, “Griffin – Clarke Griffin, you’re on my sister’s softball team.”

She narrows her eyes at him – appraising him like her mind is trying to match his face to database in her head, “You’re Octavia’s brother?” she asks.

“Bellamy.”

“Right.”

He takes a long drink of his beer as she continues to stand there awkwardly, “Did you need something from me?” she asks.

“I was just coming to investigate the “terrifying girl” that scared a freshman straight.”

“Look, I have no business here-“ she says, probably more to herself than to him.

“Front door is right there.”

“I can’t.”

“I’m no expert but I think the party will be just fine without you.”

“I came here with Octavia.”

“Right-“ he says, recalling his sister complaining about having the older players practically breathing down her neck, “it’s your job to babysit the talent- make sure the school gets its money’s worth.”

“It’s my job to make sure my team stays in one piece. Your sister is talented.”

“I’m aware.” _I’m the one the spent two hours a night and most weekends on the rec field diamonds with her from ages nine to sixteen._

“But she’s also young.” 

“She would never do anything to risk that scholarship.” _That would mean working at the Dairy Queen for the rest of her life._

“You’re her brother, of course you’d think that.”

A small but authentic prick of anger flares in his gut. “My sister doesn’t need anyone else watching out for her. Especially pretentious princesses who are only doing it to protect their precious softball kingdom.”

She pretends to think about what he said and then raises her eyebrows like she’s impressed, “Pretentious princess protecting her precious kingdom, wow you have a knack for alliteration are you a lit major?”

He lets out a fake laugh, resisting the urge to set his beer down and cross his arms the way he does when a moron tries to pick a fight with him in a bar. “You are incredibly unpleasant.”

“You approached me,” she reminds him.

“Because the last thing anyone wants to see at a party is someone moping on the steps like a little kid in time out.”

With a spiteful smirk she crosses her arms and sits back down on the stairs, gazing up at him and batting her eyelashes. “Oh please almighty Party Rock God if I give you a fake number and ask for a beer will you let me stay?”

Now he’s being mocked – openly being mocked. 

“Why don’t you just go home and hang out with your cats?” he says.

She opens her mouth but he holds his hand up to silence her like she had done to him, “Octavia doesn’t need you to look out for her. I’ve been doing it for eighteen years, I have it under control.”

“Oh really?” she asks. He watches her eyes dart to the poster on the other side of the living room, the one with all their ridiculous rules written on it. “Isn’t one of the rules on your he-man-woman haters manifesto not to hook up with freshman?” she asks innocently.

“Sure is.”

“Does that apply to everyone in the house or just to the ones unfortunate enough to live here?”

He snorts, “Why did a freshman catch your eye?”

“No but one certainly caught his.”

She gestures over his shoulder where he turns to find Atom the frat-stooge with his arm around Octavia. She’s practically giggling. It’s unacceptable.

“You’re doing a hell of a job looking after her,” Clarke says smugly.

He wants to scream at her – call her something terrible just to wipe the look off of her face, but she’s already standing up ad brushing some dust off of her jeans. With one last gleeful glance over her shoulder she turns and walks out the front door. Leaving him absolutely fuming – from her – from Atom – from the fact that he was a parent since he was 13 and there was a selfish part of him that hoped that phase of his life was over.

He’s able to play it cool – simply because a fight with Octavia would ruin the last shattered pieces of the good mood that he’s desperately clinging to, but Atom does Pay the Piper that night. Bellamy is gracious enough to chose his punishment for him, since he and a couple of his frat brothers had passed out on the living room floor not long after Octavia and the rest of the party had gone home. With the help of Miller- who is wise enough not to argue with a discreetly irate Bellamy- Atom is dragged from the living room out into the backyard where one of the very last nights of summer is unfolding beautifully. They lay him out across a lawn chair and Bellamy grabs a two liter of flat, room temperature Ginger Ale that someone had been using as a chaser and empties it all over him. Luckily, the alcohol overpowers the body’s natural reaction to having liquid poured all over it. Atom stays fast asleep even as Bellamy and Miller turn off the porch light and close the sliding glass door.

Bellamy worries that the ungodly amount of mosquito bites Atom woke up with in the morning wouldn’t send a clear enough message – but two days later he gets a rambling text from Octavia about minding his own business so he pats himself of the back for a job well done.

While he spares a few minutes to troll Octavia’s Instagram – just to make sure Atom is really backing off – he sees a picture of his sister and Clarke at the gym, smiling like they’re actually becoming friends.

Clarke looks different when she smiles – and she certainly looks different without that sweatshirt on. His finger hovers over the picture for a second, and then he double taps it with a frustrated sigh.

He’s only spoken to this girl once – has no idea who she really even is – but he’s got a gut feeling that she’s going to be a real fucking problem. 

 

**TBC......**


	2. This is a Bad Town for Such a Pretty Face (feat. Jay Gatsby)

**Track 2: _This is a Bad Town For Such a Pretty Face (feat. Jay Gatsby)_**

 

Clarke Griffin doesn’t go away.

She makes constant appearances on social media- showing up in O’s snapchat stories and Instagram, and in his real life – walking alongside Octavia when he stops to say hi to her on campus and sitting at his favorite table in the library.

They only exchange two or three words following their encounter at the _we own Beach Street_ party, and those were pleasantries for Octavia’s sake. Truthfully, she doesn’t do anything that justifies his growing dislike for her – but somewhere deep down in the childish part of his brain he hates the idea that she may actually hold more influence over his little sister than he does.

And it’s those irrational feelings that have him furiously glaring at the screen of his phone and considering canceling their annual _Let’s be real, Columbus was sort of a dick_ day celebration. And he loved _Columbus was sort of a dick day_ , it was the only party that combined his love of alcohol, girls, and historical accuracy. But there it is – Octavia’s chirpy little text

_We’ll be there! I invited some friends. Monty and Jasper can be a little much but Clarke can handle them. It’s going to be so fun. Love you xoxo._

He leans back onto their trusty old couch and tries to focus on whatever Fast and Furious movie Murphy was watching on the TV while Miller “straightened up” the living room.

“So my sister has apparently taken on the devil as her mentor.” Bellamy says as he tosses his phone onto the empty couch cushion next to him.

Murphy snorts and mumbles something about him being a drama queen. Miller just shakes his head, “Who Clarke?” he says, “nah Clarke’s alright. You’re just mad because she got one up on you.”

Bellamy sits straight up and glares, “Got one up one me? When did she get one up on me? Is she telling people she got one up on me?”

Murphy pauses the TV and turns to narrow his eyes at him, “What the hell is with you?”

“With me?”

“You’ve said more about Princess Griffin in the last three weeks than I’ve heard you say about anything in the last two years.”

He and Murphy have always walked that fine line between sworn enemies and compliant roommates. It’s never exactly been a friendship – at least not one that’s easily recognized. So Bellamy lashes out in that habitual way he’s never been able to shake, “Yeah well that’s understandable- having your head that far up your own ass can’t be conducive for great sound quality.”

“Fuck you Blake – you’re butthurt because you finally found a girl that doesn’t think you’re king of the world.”

“Just so we’re all clear, “ Bellamy says harshly- pointing a finger between the two of them – “the only reason I give a shit about Clarke Griffin is because she’s spending all of her time “mentoring” my little sister.”

“She’s not going to corrupt Octavia,” Miller says. “She’s on the dean’s list, she’s captain of the softball team-“

“Her Mommy and Daddy are BFFs with the Mayor and her trust fund could probably pay off all of our loans.” Murphy says bitterly. “Worst thing that’ll happen is Octavia will come out of this with a foot tattoo and a Starbuck’s addiction.”

Bellamy leans back and closes his eyes. "She’s bringing her over here tonight.”

“Yeah well you did tell her she could invite friends.” Miller reminds him.

“Which is pretty close to violating the rules by the way,” Murphy grunts, “ever since your sister showed up this place has been crawling with freshman.”

“As long as they pay to get in who gives a shit?”

“I give a shit,” he says, turning back to the TV, “they can’t bring booze, cant hook up with them, they’re usually the ones throwing up everywhere.”

“Says the kid who puked behind the downstairs toilet last weekend.”

“That was food poisoning!” 

“Look,” Miller snaps in an uncharacteristically sharp tone, “if you two don’t help clean this fucking place up no one is going to want to come tonight.”

So after shooting a quick _love you too_ , back to Octavia – he spends the rest of the day cleaning up old dishes and running their ancient vacuum because Miller insisted that the amount of crumbs on the carpet was embarrassing.

He’s about three beers in when Octavia and her friends finally show up. People are already out in the yard- Murphy is starting the fire, Miller is working the grill. Bellamy is talking to a girl from the History 101 class he’s TA’ing in when he see’s his sister’s bright smile through the window of their front door.

She troops in with a wave, flipping her hair over her shoulder like she’s already an expert at this. Behind her is an Asian boy and a girl with dark hair in a ponytail – and behind them, of course, is Princess Griffin and her big judgmental blue eyes.

“We brought food Bell!” Octavia yells over to him. The Asian boy holds up a roughed up cardboard pizza box that - judging from the grease stains - Bellamy would bet his life savings is at least two days old. 

He gives his sister a one armed hug and guides them into the kitchen – pointing at the sliding glass doors that lead to the yard. Octavia is talking his ear off about some gossip she’d heard from her friend back home. Her two companions head right into the yard- Octavia follows as soon as he promises to find her later so they can talk.

Clarke hangs back. Bellamy sees her glance at him- and in an attempt to avoid conversation starts fumbling through their mostly empty cabinets, pretending to look for something. 

Finally, Clarke seems to get sick of his charade- when he looks up from the cabinet under the sink she’s leaning against the counter with her arms crossed.

“I wanted to talk to you,” she says, “if you’ve finished pretending that you’re busy.”

He rolls his eyes and stands, “Can’t imagine there’s much for you and I to talk about.”

“It’s about Octavia,” she says, looking at him with an unexpected kind of determination. “I need your help.”

“You need my help with what?”

He tries to walk past her, but she side-steps to block his path. “She sort of- hinted that she was interested in pre-med.”

“Okay?” He remembers having a conversation with her about that – once. Their mother had always talked about going back to school to be a nurse. 

“My Mom works at St. Michaels, there’s a program for first year-“

“No.” he says, “She doesn’t need your mother doing her any favors.”

Clarke’s eyes widen. Instead of being offended she looks at him like he’s an idiot. “Of course she doesn’t. She’s brilliant, she’d get in on her own.”

“I know that,” he snaps.

“You know that and I know that, but she doesn’t-“

“What are you talking about?”

Clarke looks over to make sure that no one is walking through the doors, “I mentioned it to her and- I don’t know, I got the impression that she didn’t think she could handle it. I mean if she’s legitimately not interested then fine, but if she’s just doubting herself- I was hoping you would talk to her. My opinion only goes so far but you- well she loves you, a lot.”

He narrows his eyes. She looks so sincere, like she’s actually put a lot of thought into this and planned her whole little speech in her head. He’s not used to that, to people like her caring about people like he and Octavia.

“What’s your angle here?” he demands.

“My angle?”

“Why are you doing this?” 

Clarke looks down at her feet just long enough to take a deep breath before meeting his gaze head on. “Because Octavia is a good person, a good friend, and I think she’d make a good doctor some day. She’s good with people, she cares.”

He thinks of his sister – the way she worries about people she’s never even met, the beauty she still seems to find in everything. She changes you when you get to know her – makes you a better person. She’s resilient and her moral code is infallible. She finds friends everywhere – in the most unlikely of people: Skateboard Freddie, the homeless guy that sits outside of the 711 at home for whom she bought a coffee for every Wednesday morning, Eric, the eight year old boy that lived next door to them that always invited her over for lightsaber battles in his front yard, Delilah the high school secretary, a divorcee who Octavia set up with the new gym teacher (their wedding is next spring), and apparently Clarke Griffin, who speaks about his sister with undeniable sincerity. 

“Yeah, she does,” he finally agrees. 

Clarke almost smiles, but then the front door opens and closes with a bang and Bellamy’s eyes dart away from her face. That Jasper kid walks by- his arms filled with bags of ice- behind him is a guy Bellamy has never met before, sort of smug looking, with hair hanging down into his eyes.

“Oh hey Bellamy!” Jasper says- like they’re old friends, “Clarke.” He gives her a nervous smile and heads towards the doors. 

The other guy stops and tilts his head. “Clarke Griffin,” he smiles, “you came.”

Bellamy is pretty sure Clarke is blushing – but the lighting in the kitchen is terrible so he could be wrong.

“Yeah,” she says, “Uh this is Bellamy Blake, Octavia’s brother. Bellamy this is Finn Collins.”

Finn Collins doesn’t even look his way as he waves a hand, “How’s it going?” He takes a few steps and leans against the entrance-way to the kitchen. “So I thought you weren’t the partying type Clarke?”

She fixes a bitter smile on her face and looks up at him, “No, what I meant was that I’m not your type.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“I doubt that I giggle enough.”

“I love how you think you know me.” He lets out a laugh, “Why don’t you call off the dogs and have a conversation with me- you might be surprised.”

Clarke raises her eyebrows, “I don’t know there are a lot of people out there,” she nods her head towards the yard, “wouldn’t want to deprive them of my winning personality.”

Collins smiles, “That’s alright, I’ll wait.” He gives her a look that might as well be a wink and then follows Jasper’s earlier path out into the backyard.

Bellamy is still standing with his back against the fridge, halfway between amused and uncomfortable. “Well,” he says, “that was gross.”

“Shut up.”

“You’re not actually into that are you- that smug Prince Charming routine?”

Clarke shakes her head, “As opposed to your routine- which was basically accusing me of ruining your house party.”

He almost laughs at her. “That wasn’t a routine,” he says, “you’re definitely not my type.”

“What a relief,” she starts to walk backwards, “listen if you can just talk to Octavia-“

“I will,” he hesitates and then adds a “thanks.”

By the end of that night – he hates her a little bit less.

 

He actually doesn’t even see her again until the next party they throw – Halloween.

He’s not a big fan of dressing up, but they always buy a few cheap kegs, charge double at the door, and turn a decent profit.

This year is even better, because the crapshack is empty and that means they can do pretty much whatever they want. People talk about the party for weeks – it seems like they’re actually serious competition for the frat parties closer to campus that get special licenses and hire bartenders and DJ’s. All they have is discount beer, Miller’s ipod, and a location that is fortunately too much of a pain in the ass for police cruisers to regularly patrol- but the people still come. They’re catching a reputation. Sometimes he feels like the Jay Gatsby of Beach Street. 

And so he stands in the middle of chaos he’s created- surrounded by flashy costumes, and smoke machines, and all of the dollar store decorations Octavia had helped him put up. She’s always loved Halloween – Bellamy had actually honed a lot of his creativity from the costumes he’d help her make every year (which is why he’d put a giant gift tag around his neck that said “To: Women, From: God” on it). This year she’d decided to go the store bought route. She’d showed up in a Wonder Woman costume – with a lack of real pants that annoyed him a little bit. But it was alright – Monty and Jasper, who had been coming around the house like a pair of stray cats, were dressed as batman and superman. Octavia was the only one that was really pulling the superhero thing off. The real story was the blonde that snuck in behind them, literally crouched behind Monty and Jasper like their fake muscles would conceal her from the room.

They didn’t.

Clarke Griffin loses her cover about half way through to the kitchen and Bellamy notices because at that moment three of four wolf whistles echo throughout the room – he’s actually pretty sure one of the guys from the lacrosse team yells “dibs.” 

The light reflects off of her- and a dress that’s covered in silver sequins but barely covers any skin. She’s wearing a white feathery boa and so much costume jewelry he nearly has to squint at her. Her blond hair is curled, a shiny headband with a single feather rests across her forehead. Her legs are bare- she stands wobbly on thin silver heels. Outrageous fake eyelashes and something shimmery make her eyes seem even bluer than before. A flapper girl- she was a flapper girl – but definitely not historically accurate one. 

The name Daisy Buchanan flashes in his mind and he shakes his head- he hates people who romanticize Gatsby. 

Still, he’s drunk enough to admit that she’d be breathtakingly beautiful if she wasn’t so clearly uncomfortable.

He watches her out of the corner of his eye for a while – partly out of interest, but also in case he needs to intervene if the lacrosse goalie starts to make his move. The kid is a dick and owes Bellamy at least $30, so the last thing he deserves is a shot at a girl like Griffin, even if she is an icebitch. Its not difficult to keep an eye on her. In true icebitch fashion, she just stands awkwardly by the front door- though he doubts she could sit down even if she wanted to because he’s pretty sure that dress is actually two sizes too small for her. 

Eventually he just starts to feel bad for her- and a little annoyed with the steady stream of dudes blatantly raking their eyes up and down her legs and making it worse. With a sigh, he removes the giant gift tag that is his costume and walks over to her. 

“What the hell are you wearing?” he knows he doesn’t have the right to ask- because his voice absolutely sounds like an outraged father and he can count the number of conversations he’s had with Clarke Griffin on one hand.

She pulls down on the skirt self consciously, “Your sister,” is all she says.

He lets out a laugh and tries not to look at her legs – the hypocrisy of that would just ruin his entire night.

“She said I had to dress up if I wanted to come," she explains with a huff- glaring at his lack of costume, “and this was all she had – this,” she points down, “did you know that she owned this?”

He squeezes his eyes shut and sighs, “I did not.”

As a kid wearing a Bill Clinton mask "accidently" bumps into her, she crosses her arms to hide her cleavage, “This is embarrassing.”

He turns away and leans up againt the pastic cobwebs on the wall. They stand there for a moment- side by side- and look out at the party. “I guess I owe you a thank you," he says.

She glares at him- probably expecting the pervy joke she'd get from 8 out of 10 guys at that party, but that's never been Bellamy's style, even if he were hitting on her.

“If you weren’t wearing that- my sister may have been and that would not have ended well.” _The carcasses of every male here would have lined the floor from the backyard to the front door._

She stares ahead for a minute. Her arm rests sort of against his- he takes that as a show of good faith. “You uh- you haven’t seen um –“ she looks nervous, it makes him think of the only other time he’s seen her nervous.

“Collins?” he smirks, “no not yet.”

There's another wolf whistle, maybe it's not even directed at her, but it's enough for her to turn towards him with a fierce glare.

“You know- I get it,” she rants, “I get that I need to be more sociable, but this is not- I can’t do this.”

She looks panicked, and in a weird way he can understand why. It’s become clear to him that Clarke Griffin is not the kind of girl that is interested in the freedom to dress however you want without judgement. Maybe she really values modesty or she doesn’t have great self-confidence - either way- as much as he truly doesn’t care about her feelings, it seems kind of fucked up to let her walk around barely able to move and conscious of every pair of eyes on her (and there will be eyes on her, especially Collins). Octavia may have meant well, but getting a Halloween make-over clearly wasn’t something Clarke had asked for.

“Fuck it,” he finally says, “come on.”

He takes a step towards the stairs and her eyes nearly bug out of her head, “Excuse me?”

It takes him a moment to realize how it must look out of context- God's gift to women holding out his hand like that. “Really?, “ he sighs, “I’m trying to help you. Stop turning every conversation we have into me hitting on you.”

She glares, but he can see the relief on her face as she starts to follow him. “Can you blame me?” she asks, “When Mr. God’s Gift to Women starts to lead me to his room what am I supposed to think?”

“Saw that huh?” he asks with a grin. Maybe she does have some semblance of a sense of humor.

“Well I am a woman,” she says sarcastically. Her heels click behind him until she suddenly stops. When he glances back over his shoulder, she's staring down at the party, pulling her dress down at her sides. "What?" he asks. “People are going to think-“

“Yeah they are," he says, although by people- he's pretty sure she means Collins, “but the ones who matter will listen when you tell them the truth, the ones that don’t will run their mouths regardless, and most of the guys down there drooling all over you will definitely leave you alone for the rest of the night.”

“Why’s that?”

He rolls his eyes, she's being intentionally obtuse, “Because as far as they know, you’re taken.”

She raises her eyebrows, “Is that what you’re doing?” 

“Calm down Zelda, it’s just an added bonus."

“Zelda?”

“Zelda Fitzgerald- she was-“

“I know who Zelda Fitzgerald is.”

He doesn’t bother to continue the argument as they walk through the dark hallway. His room is messy, he tries not to care as he lets her in and flips on a light. She already dislikes him- how much more damage can it cause if she thinks he’s a slob?

“Nice room,” she says, kicking a sweatshirt on the floor out of her way.

“Just sit down and shut up,” he tells her- pointing to his desk chair, “or stand, wouldn’t want that dress to just split right down the middle.”

“You know if I actually gave a shit what you thought of me- I would probably take offense to that.” She sits down and crosses her legs in front of her. 

“Wasn’t meant as an insult,” he mumbles as he starts to dig through his closet.

“What exactly are you looking for?”

“Well I was going to offer you another costume, but if you’d rather continue the evening as eye candy.”

“Gross.”

His mind is whirling- going through costumes he and O had seen online, things he’s seen at parties. He pulls out a white dress shirt from the back of his closet and tosses it to her, then he goes over to his dresser and finds the only pair of white tube socks he owns- and the plastic package of boxers his aunt had given him last Christmas.

She flinches when he tosses a pair to her.

“Calm the fuck down I’ve never worn them,” he says, wheeling the desk chair - with her still sitting in it- out of his way so he can look for that pair of sunglasses he’d bought last summer. He sees her face out of the corner of his eye and grins, “they’re too small," he says.

She lets out an annoyed sigh- but he sees her blush a little. “That’s great,” she says, “make this more awkward.”

“Doesn’t have to be awkward Princess," he says, “I’m not doing anything for you that I wouldn’t do for my own sister- here” he hands her the sunglasses. “Congratulations you’re Tom Cruise from Risky Business.”

It takes her a brief moment of staring at the costume before she gets it. But then she lets out a laugh and grips the shirt to her chest. “Thank you,” she says, “I don’t know why you’re helping me but thank you.”

“Contrary to popular belief Griffin, I’m not actually an asshole.”

“Arrogant, self-serving jack-ass is what I heard," she says with a faint smile.

“Yeah, well happy Halloween.”

She stands up- “I’ll uh- I’ll get all this back to you before-“

“Don’t worry about it. Just don’t throw up on the shirt and we’re good.” He pushes the desk chair in and starts to leave the room, “make sure you turn the light out when you leave.”

“Bellamy,” when he turns back around she’s smiling at him and for a very brief second he remembers for all it’s heart break and tragedy, the Great Gatsby is something of a love story – and that thought is immediately followed by his conscience letting him know that it’s time to cut himself off for the night.

“Sure thing Princess,” he says quickly as he flees the room. 

He bypasses the dancefloor and beer pong table and goes right out to the yard- and pointedly ignores the few high-fives aimed his way. He finds Octavia and her friend Monroe sitting in chairs by the fire – he also spots Collins talking to Miller. He plans to find the girl he’d been talking to earlier- Roma something… but before he does he crouches down next to his sister.

“Just for future reference,” he says, “next time you wanna use Griffin as your own personal Barbie you may want to go with the full length princess gown.”

Octavia sits up – he sees the little bit of guilt in her eyes, “Is she alright?”

“She’s fine. She was just uncomfortable.”

“Yeah, but she looked awesome.”

“Don't play dumb O. She could barely breathe-“

She turns to face him all the way, “You have to be the most dramatic person I’ve ever-“ she stops talking and stares at something over his shoulder. “Bellamy,” she says with a big smirk, “is Clarke Griffin wearing your underwear?”

Monroe spits out her drink and Octavia starts to laugh.

"This boxers with the blue polka dots, those are yours," she says, "Clarke Griffin is wearing your underwear!"

He shushes her and grabs the plastic cup from her hand.“No, she’s wearing those ugly ass boxers Aunt Lisa gave me because the costume you stuck her with was practically an “open for business sign”.”

“That’s incredibly misogynistic,” Octavia says as she reaches out for the cup "a girl can wear whatever the fuck she wants. Nothing is open for business unless she offers..

Bellamy stands up and seriously reconsiders his decision to start drinking, “Fine. Im not picking a fight with you . The point is she’s actually having a good time now – look at her,”

And she was- his shirt was hanging off of her and the boxers went almost down to her knees but she looked much more relaxed. Collins had already found her- and was laughing at her costume. Bellamy got a sort of underhanded jolt of satisfaction knowing that the kid had no idea she was wearing another dude’s clothes. 

She certainly looked good in them – and it wasn’t a big deal for him to think that because what guy wouldn’t look at a beautiful girl in his clothes and not think that….

It was definitely time to stop drinking.

He shoots his sister a grin and spends the next hour trying to find Roma – after that the party goes just as it always does. The fire gets out of control and Bellamy has to shut it down, Murphy starts a fight, and by the time everyone leaves their whole house is covered in a layer of Halloween candy wrappers and empty plastic cups.

He doesn’t see Clarke again – but he does think about her for a minute as he and Roma stumble into his bedroom. It occurs to him that she probably won't be too happy with the flapper girl dress and heels undoubtedly laying on the bed or on the floor, but the next morning- when he actually has time to look- he finds the flashy costume neatly stashed out of sight in his closet.

Her foresight is sort of touching, so as far as he’s concerned they’re even. 

 

 

The sight of her becomes less annoying – and she returns the clothes a week later, freshly laundered in bag placed in their mailbox with a $15 Taco Bell gift card. He assumes that means that things went well with Collins. 

They’re going to be one hell of an annoying couple.

He gets his first taste of that the weekend after Thanksgiving – when all of their friends who have no real family, or cant stand being in a room with the one they do have, gather over at the baseball practice fields.

It was his idea, but he had meant it to be something just for he and Octavia- she had sort of run with it and by the time that Saturday came, #orphangame was practically trending on Twitter and nearly twenty people had shown up with coolers and food.

He sees Clarke pretty much the second she steps out of Collin’s car – and he wonders for a minute why she’s not spending the weekend at five-star hotel with her hot-shot surgeon mother. It’s certainly not something he’d ask her – and asking Octavia would only give the illusion that he actually cared – so he just files it away in the back of his mind and goes back to arguing with Miller about how to correctly grill a turkey burger. 

He does surprise himself an hour later – when he and Octavia are team Captains and his first choice is Clarke.

It comes out without him even really having to think about. Octavia glares at him like he’s just betrayed her but he can’t let her stack her team with all her softball friends- that’s just not fair.

The trouble with this comes once the game actually starts. Clarke doesn’t seem to understand that she isn’t the team captain- she keeps trying to change the line-up and give people advice. Eventually he actually has to ban her from the dug-out. The only reason she listens to him is because he makes such a scene that Finn starts to look over from his spot on the field. 

That’s the other problem. Clarke is incredible on the mound and as annoying as she is Bellamy definitely made the right choice, she gets strike out after strike out- barely breaking a sweat (except when O and Monroe are up to bat, they always put up a decent fight) the only time she falters is when Collins is out there grinning and winking at her like a fucking Disney Prince. So despite the fact that his team is winning, and the game is almost over, the last time Finn goes up to bat Bellamy hangs out of the dugout and cups his hands around his mouth to scream at his pitcher.

“Griffin!” he yells out onto the field, “get off the mound if you’re gonna just hand them the game!”

She - and pretty much everyone around them- looks shocked. “Excuse me?!”

“I realize that you two are in the rising action of your own romantic comedy but if you don’t strike him out, I’ll come out there and do it myself!”

An intense look crosses her face- one that almost makes him regret his words. “You’ll come out here and embarrass yourself,” she yells back.

“I’ve seen you pitch! Turn the fucking heat on and smoke him.”

“Don’t tell me how to do my fucking job!”

“Do you want to win?” he starts to storm onto the field and everyone groans.

“Get back in the dugout!” Clarke yells – aggressively trying to direct him away from her.

“Do. You. Want. To. Win?!” he stops when he’s toe to toe with her. Collins has his hand shielding his eyes from the sun- like he’s getting ready to intervene if one of them decides to throw a punch. 

Clarke just glares at him, but her breathing starts to slow and she glances at their chalkboard Jumbo-Tron and sighs. “We are winning Bellamy.”

“I want a shut out.” He says, sort of maniacally, “don’t look at me like that, I know you want one too. Murphy has been heckling you for hours.”

Somewhere in the distance they can both hear him cackling.

“Fine,” she says, with a resounding nod.

Bellamy walks backwards to the dugout – keeping their eyes locked, “Don’t take it easy on him,” he says.

By the time he gets into the dugout, sits down, and takes a drink from his water bottle – Collins has already struck out and Clarke is grinning victoriously from the mound. 

It’s possible that Miller may have been right, he thinks as he watches his team storm the field, it’s entirely possible that Clarke Griffin may just be alright. 

 

 

 

**TBC....**


	3. I Might be too Strung out on Compliments, Overdosed on Confidence GOT Remix (feat. stitches and John Cena)

**Track 3: I might be too strung out on Compliments, overdosed on Confidence GOT Remix (feat. stitches and John Cena)**

 

Because procrastination and jackassery can only amuse Bellamy for a few months out of the year, he buckles down during the winter. The skies get grey, girls stop shaving their legs on the regular, and it seems like everything gets more fucking expensive, so he spends most evenings at their kitchen table reading second hand textbooks by the glow of Miller’s corny-ass colored Christmas lights. On Tuesdays, usually the greyist of all the grey days, Octavia comes over. They share a frozen pizza and a six pack of whatever over-priced stout they’ve got down at the liquor store on Main, and Octavia hassles him about his lack of organization while he edits the paper she has due that week.

She's not a bad writer- he usually enjoys reading her papers. She tends to get passionate about basically whatever, it's what makes her such a great person, but it also makes her argumentative essays read like angry Facebook Rants. As far as his organization goes - that's something that'll never change. Organized chaos is what he functions best in. He'd like to believe that he'd be a perfect make-shift leader in whatever remained of a post- apocalyptic style society. Others would probably disagree. 

Life after the apocalypse would be exciting, but his life -as it is right now- is very mundane. He chocks it up to the changing of seasons.

“We start softball conditioning next week.” Octavia tells him one day in early February. She's tied her hair back with an old rubber band, her fingers twisting the end of her ponytail as her foot taps to the bumps of Miller's music. Her beer is half full and probably warm- he's pretty sure she's just starting a conversation to avoid the last four pages of the essay she was supposed to be churning through, but he's too focused on his own annotated bibliography to be an active participant. Fucking Chicago Style 

When she continues to look at him out of the corner of his eye, he gives up and nods. “A little early,” he says.

Octavia lets out a laugh, dropping her pen and leaning back in her chair. Obviously his answer had given her all the permission she needed to abandon her homework. “Please," she says, "Clarke has been on a work out regime ever since Christmas.”

Bellamy hadn’t seen Clarke much over the last few months, but he was positive that a complete 180 of her off-putting personality would take longer than half a semester, so it was probably safe to assume that her crazy ass wasn't a good model for any behavior. He keeps most of his Clarke- related thoughts to himself, since Octavia was still determined to like her. Those few times he had crossed her path, he'd been polite for the most part, except for a brief argument in the bookstore when he called her a snob because she’d made an offhand comment about buying books second hand. He’d taken it out of context because he’d been having a bad day but Clarke hadn’t really been sympathetic to that.

“Which is why she hasn’t really been coming around on the weekends.” Octavia explains, raising her eyebrows like she can actually hear the thoughts in his head.

He doesn't give anything away- dismisses the thought of her like a Candy Crush notification and takes a long swig of what was left in his bottle. “Hadn’t noticed.”

Octavia actually closes her textbook. Her hands fold in front of her- guidance counselor style.“I’ve heard her speak highly of you when you’re not around.” she says, “you should remember that the next time you feel the urge to call her a snob.”

He cant imagine a situation where she would ever "speak highly" of him beyond complimenting his shoes, but that isn't even the most ridiculous part of what she'd just said. He may be a little dramatic when he calls her crazy or compares her to an antichrist- like figure but if there is one thing he knows about her it's that she looks down on him- and probably most other people. 

“She is a snob," he says- just as Miller's music changes to an old Kayne West song-.The College Dropout- a perfect soundtrack for harsh truths. 

“She is not," Octavia argues, "you’re the one that lectures people about inaccurate historical references to the point of tears.”

Bellamy slams his hands down, both of their bottles shake ominously. “That girl thought Game of Thrones was based on a true story," he says. "She actually thinks that at some point there were dragons and direwolves and a giant fucking ice wall.”

He shouldn't be raising his voice. Octavia was looking at him like she was considering breaking one of those bottles over his head, but this was the seventh fucking time he’d had to justify his behavior that day and all because Kyle fucking Wick had caught some of it on his Snapchat Story. 

“You were eavesdropping on their conversation," she said, her arms crossed - an indicator that he's about to get a lot of attitude right back, "you have no idea if that’s what was actually being-“ 

“She said – and I quote- My ancestors may have been a part of the night’s watch , which is fucking stupid in and of itself because everyone knows those guys took a vow to never father children –“

He'd been behind her in line at the library. She was standing in a building that housed thousands of books- arguably the most educational structure on campus- spewing this nonsense to at least two other idiots who either believed her, or didn't fear a plague of stupidity enough to intervene. Bellamy hadn't been able to keep his mouth shut- truthfully he hadn't even tried.

“She was probably being hypothetical-“

He leans forward, “The next words out of her mouth were- but my Mom says we’re German and I don’t know if the wall went that far east.”

Octavia makes a face. Someone who didn't know him the way she knows him would probably continue to argue. As his sister she could tell that she'd already set off his temper, it was best just to let it burn off.

“She actually argued with me-" he rants, "about Boardwalk Empire and DeadWood and the Tudors and Sparatcus and _if all of those shows were based on history how can you possibly think this isn’t._ ” He imitates the girl in the slightly high-pitched voice he uses to imitate everyone.

“Your face is getting really red, you should calm down," Octavia says as she looks down to aimlessly scroll through her phone.

“I almost transferred. I actually considered it because how can I be proud of a degree that I earned from an establishment that admitted an idiot like that?!” he drains the last bit from his beer and appreciates the sound of his sister laugh just as the sliding glass door opens.

“My God,” Murphy groans- halfway to walking into the kitchen, “shut the fuck up about the Games of Thrones girl. We get it, you're smarter than everyone.”

Bellamy wants to continue to rant, because the idea that correcting a girl who believed White Walkers once existed makes him "smarter than everyone" is fucking ridiculous, but its not worth it to fight with Murphy. He's a goddamn IED and Bellamy had learned from experience not to poke at the metaphorically explosive. Mostly he's been having money problems- having been fired from the grocery store because he was stealing packs of chewing tobacco. 

He'd taken up another job recently- hadn't been secretive about it at all- but it was obvious that he wasn't as good at selling pot as he was smoking it. 

 

All in all winter goes pretty smoothly. There’s a slight issue just after Valentine’s Day when a rumor spreads around campus that Octavia is seeing some guy that lives near Mount Weather. When Bellamy asks her about it she laughs and tells him she’s spending so much time struggling through classes and softball training that she wouldn’t have time for a boyfriend even if she wanted one. 

He doesn’t completely believe her until he visits her at her dorm and Clarke is there supposedly “studying” with her. “Studying” in Clarke’s world seems to involve an awful lot of sit-ups. 

“Does she realize this isn't a fucking gym?” Bellamy whispers to his sister after he’s pretty sure Clarke has already rounded 100. They're crowded around a tiny uneven table that can barely support the weight of their books. Her roommate- a quiet girl who always stuttered when Bellamy came around - had apparently gone home for the weekend, which was good because a frantically exercising Clarke Griffin would have made her much more uncomfortable than Bellamy ever had. 

Octavia doesn't seem to find it uncomfortable at all. She just smiles and reaches across him for a highlighter. “Oh she does this all the time –" she says, "if she cant get to the gym she makes her own.”

“Why?” He can’t help but take an interest in her, that’s something he’s long since accepted. He’s been telling himself it’s because she obviously plays an important role in his sister’s life.

“Softball starts next week.” She nods to a calendar on the wall- the 15th circled in four or five different colors. 

“Right.” He reaches over and grabs the paper she’s working on to proofread it. Truth is he’d missed being able to watch O play. That had been a major part of her childhood. After their mom died she'd started acting out a bit,and he- being a teenager- had no idea how to help her. Lacrosse had worked for him, so he'd begged his Aunt to sign her up for softball. She'd resisted at first, because if she wasn't going to let a principal or relative boss her around she sure as shit wasn't going to listen to some old guy with a clipboard. After her first batting practice that had changed completely. She and Bellamy had learned about the game together, practicing when they could, pinching pennies to pay for her gear and summer league registration fees. She rode that wave all the way to college, and he'd tagged along the whole way. This was what she'd been working towards since she was nine. Her dreams were literally coming true in front of him. 

He was looking forward to it, but obviously not as much as Clarke Griffin was.

“Its her life –" Octavia explains- obviously having seen the look he'd shot her teammate. "I mean other than school – it’s her entire life. She even told Finn she could only see him twice a week.”

He makes a face. The idea of Clarke and Collins is annoying to him, has always been annoying to him. So much condescension jammed into one relationship. Theoretically they'd deserve each other, but there was something about Collins that made Bellamy automatically against anything that could bring that smug smile out. “So that’s officially a thing?” he asks - in the same tone he uses when he asks Murphy about mysterious stains in their toilet. 

Octavia nods. “Since her birthday.”

He has no idea when the fuck that was. If there was a party, he certainly hadn't been invited. 

While Octavia starts flipping through the index of a book, he watches Griffin out of the corner of his eye for a minute and wonders why girls' workout clothes are so tight. “So where are they building their castle?” he asks bitterly.

Octavia shakes her head but doesn't look up, “Bellamy-“ she warns.

“What?”

When she does pick her head up, she gives him a patronizing smile. “You know I get it – I felt the same way at first, but Clarke is…..different.”

“Alright,” Clarke says practically bouncing over to them, “I think I can focus now. I hate my new schedule. I'm going to have to start going to the gym at 3 in the morning."

She sits down at the table and Bellamy tries not to look at her. She's ignoring him- or hasn't noticed him, either way he didn't wear the right shoes for walking on eggshells, “Guess that’s my cue to leave.”

“You don’t have to.” 

He expected to hear Octavia protest, but it’s Clarke who’s looking at him with raised eyebrows, “I’m sure you’ll survive being in the same room with me- I don’t think snobbery is contagious.”

 _Shots fired_. He sinks back down in his seat and looks at her. Her face is a little red, her forehead sort of sweaty. It’s probably the adrenaline making her look so damn smug. His knee-jerk reaction is to confirm that she is a fucking snob and list all of the reasons why, but it’s not worth his energy and he knows it.

“I’m not going to apologize for what I said.” he says.

She shrugs. “I’m not asking for an apology.”

“Well you’re looking at me like you want something.”

She glances briefly at Octavia before locking her eyes right back on his. “I want you to realize that you don’t know me,” she says.

She's sitting so close to Octavia that their shoulders touch- because somehow they aren't just teammates, they're actually friends. Octavia can make friends with anyone, but she's very careful about who she spends her time with. Clarke Griffin obviously isn't going anywhere, and if that's true than O must have seen something in her that Bellamy hasn't, or something that he's overlooked. She's had her moments- brief seconds that lead him to believe that she could be someone he'd actually consider an acquaintance, but then she'd speak and he'd remember that she was probably one of the richest girls at this school. Entitlement was ugly, and he was guilty of it in a lot of ways, but Clarke Griffin walked through life like she was waiting for everything to bow down to her. Maybe in another world that would be admirable- here it was obnoxious. The thing is- if he's being completely honest- he really doesn't know that much about her other than her last name and a ballpark figure of her mother's salary. When he speaks to her she's either already pissed off, or anticipating him pissing her off. It seemed like the only time they could find common ground was on a softball field - or when she was squeezed into a flapper girl costume. 

“Fine," he said- trusting his sister's instincts over his own, "I don’t know you.”

That's enough for her that day. She nods at him and dives right into her homework, even asking him a question about one of her sources. He's only uncomfortable because of the size of the table. It's a small instance- not particularly memorable, but definitely the end of something and the start of something else.

After that day Clarke Griffin accidentally becomes his friend.

The Softball season starts off strong. Octavia isn’t performing at bat the way she wants to, but Bellamy’s pretty sure that she’s just going through an adjustment period. She’s doing great on third- he’d been a little worried about that, she was transitioning from playing short stop in high school. Clarke spent a lot of extra time working with her- mostly because he couldn't. His coursework was increasing by the bucket-load since he'd decided to declare a double major. 

He goes to as many games as he can. Sometimes he even ends up sitting with Octavia’s friends- Jasper Jordan, his friend Monty, occasionally even Finn Collins – who spends more time looking at his phone than his girlfriend on the mound. And she’s worth looking at- not in a pervy way, but because she’s truly talented. Her composure on the field is probably what impresses Bellamy the most. She’s clearly a leader- the first one to celebrate a good play or console someone who fucked up. She also throws a fastball that's so fucking perfect it makes him grin like an idiot every time he sees it. 

He tells her so one day and she looks at him like he'd just recited her a fucking sonnet- which was strange because he'd seen how uncomfortable she seemed to get when Collins started laying the romance on thick. 

They finally have something to talk about that doesn’t even breach the topic of her being a snob. She lights up when he mentions softball, sometimes he’s pretty sure she forgets that he’s the one she’s talking to because she’ll reach out and excitedly grab his shoulder or bump her arm against his. And in these moments he just watches her- usually as Collins shoots him suspicious side-eyes. They’re few and far between, but they start to make him suspect that maybe _maybe_ they're gonna end up being friends at the end of all this. 

It certainly makes him give more of a shit about what happens to her. 

One night, when it's halfway between chilly and humid, and his allergies start to get really bad- as they usually do in the Spring- he finds himself driving to a 24/7 Walgreens for some medicine Octavia had passed him a coupon for. "Your nose Bell," she'd said when they'd crossed paths in the library, "it's gross."

It’s a quick in and out trip, but he’s got a slow leak in his back left tire and busted pressure sensors and it’s a pain in the fucking ass to keep checking it manually. As he’s bent back there- damning an inanimate object to hell and sneezing all over his shirt sleeve- he catches a glimpse of a blonde girl jogging through the park across street. Surprisingly he recognizes her by her shoes, green and reflective. He’d made fun of them just a few days before. What a stupid waste of money.

Speaking of stupid,what the fuck was she doing out by herself at 2 AM?

_Big brother instincts activate._

“Griffin!” he jams his hands in his pockets and storms off to catch up with her. “What the hell are you doing out here?”

She’s startled at first, and rightly so, but once she sees that it’s him she pauses long enough to yell over her shoulder. “Couldn’t sleep.”

He narrows his eyes at the back of her head and keeps walking. “So you thought going for a run in the middle of the night by yourself was a good idea?”

“I have a rape whistle.” she says.

“Don’t be cute- slow down.” Finally they reach a street corner and she uses the pretense of stopping at the stop sign to turn and look at him.

 

“This is like a fucking obsession with you isn’t it?” he asks- a little out of breath because of his disgusting stuffed nose.

She looks at him with narrowed eyes and then shakes her head. “I’m on a scholarship too,” she explains, “If they decide I’m no longer worth the money-“

“Isn’t your family loaded?” he’s startled into asking- because up until this point he'd made it very clear that he assumed she was loaded. Half of his insults had been based on that. Is it even possible that he'd be making that much of an ass out of himself without anyone correcting him?

“I don’t accept money from my family,” she snaps. He gets the smallest glimpse of her dramatic backstory in her eyes, but he obviously hasn't reached the level to unlock it.

It’s quiet and awkward and he sort of feels bad for ever calling her a snob- sort of. It certainly throws him off of his game. He looks around for inspiration, something to say to break the tension. Instead all he can think of is Octavia after their first game- when she'd gone 0 for 3 and had refused to leave the field until she got a hit off of Clarke. Bellamy had eavesdropped on their conversation a bit while he pretended to listen to music on his phone. 

“They cant just pull a scholarship like that.” he says, one of the many reassurances she'd yelled to his sister that day.

She doesn't recognize her own words. “I have to earn my keep.”

She's shuffling around on her feet. He doesn't have to be a psych major to realize that something isn't right with her. “And you’ll achieve that by spending the time you should be sleeping running around in the dark?” he questions. 

She lets out a frustrated breath and stares up at the sky. He notices the slight shine to her eyes, like water building up behind the brim of a cup. Mentally praying to everything that will listen that there won't be any tears, he watches her contemplate whatever it is she’s contemplating. In those few seconds- long enough for the traffic light to turn _red, yellow, and green_ again, she looks at everything but him: the sky, a lamppost, her hands. For some reason he just waits there.

“My shoulder is bothering me,” she finally says- mostly to the ground, “it started last series.”

She’d played phenomenally last series, had nearly thrown a no-hitter in the second game, but he had noticed the slight sink of her shoulders afterwards. She’d stayed home those few nights, even when Bellamy decided to let them use his yard for a party. Not that she was the biggest party animal, but she did believe in team unity and celebrating together. He’d wanted to ask O if something was wrong, but the girl that plays first base had caught his eye and he was distracted from any thoughts about Clarke Griffin. 

Now she stands in front of him looking like a horror movie heroine that's being haunted by some kind of illusive spectral ghost girl. She'd obviously not slept in a while, her eyes looked dull, her hair messily tied up. She glances around them, afraid that someone had overheard, but they're the only ones standing on that corner, they're the only ones on the street at all. Him with his runny nose and her with her achy shoulder. 

“Did you tell-“

“No," she cuts him off, "I didn’t tell anyone.”

 _But me,_ he says to himself- with a surprising amount of pride, _you didn’t tell anyone but me._

“They’re using you too much,"he says. If she was his sister he’d have said something a long time ago, but as a spectator and fan he’d just assumed that she could handle it. If the coaches wanted to play risky, more power to them. It was working. But it would only work if they had Clarke. If they knew her shoulder was acting up enough to keep her awake at night, they'd sit her.

“I want to be in the game,” she says, “If I tell Kane about my shoulder he’ll-“

“Griffin-“ he interrupts. If they don't sit her and she pushes herself too much, her career as a pitcher will be over. She'll be screwing herself and the entire team. 

“I can handle it," she says, "it’s not that bad I just- I need to feel like I’m doing something instead of just sitting around worrying about it.” 

He wants to remind her that running around in the dark isn’t exactly productive, but she’s already putting her hands on her head with a look of absolute disbelief on her face.

“I have no idea why I just told you all of this-“she says. She looks genuinely upset so he tries to pretend to be uninterested. 

“I have one of those faces," he says, "it’s a big brother thing.”

Maybe she smiles a little bit. He’s too busy looking at her shoulder to notice. 

“I have to go," she says- as the traffic light turns again _red, yellow, green._

“Let me drive you back-“

“No-“ she holds up her hands, “No I need this.”

He’s not her brother. He’s not her boyfriend. He’s not her father, or coach, he doesn’t even follow her on Instagram- so what can he do really? “Fine,” he says- pocketing his keys and hoping a sneeze doesn't ruin his storm-away. 

The slight guilt trip that never works on Octavia works on her, she calls out to him before he turns around to leave. “Your number is in my phone, from when Octavia called you from the pizza place. I’ll uh- I’ll text you when I get back. So you don’t worry.”

He nods, because saying "Thank you" would give the impression that he cares more than he does, but of course that’s not really good enough – so he sort of stalks her in his jeep until he sees her go into her apartment building- but again, it’s just big brother impulses, really. 

He doesn't have very good control over them. He'd do the unthinkable for Octavia. Seeing her upset or in danger sends him into a blind rage- it always has. So when halfway through March his sister skips practice so she can lay across his bed and cry because she thinks she's a failure, he completely loses his shit- and he can't think of anyone better to lose his shit on than Clarke Griffin. 

He storms into her apartment building, only knowing where it is because he'd stalked her that night. Luckily he caught her on the stairs- because otherwise he was prepared to bang on every door until her found her. When he looks at her, he sees the same exhaustion he'd seen in Octavia- that look that screams _I cant handle it, I haven’t slept in months, I'm not good enough._ Griffin had brought it onto herself, but Octavia shouldn't have that look. She's never struggled in school, and her course-load wasn’t even that heavy. The only thing that had changed was fucking softball and if there was anyone out there putting ridiculous pressure on his sister it was her crazy fucking team captain.

They practically run into each other as Clarke comes bounding down the stairs. He sticks his arms out to stop her because otherwise she would have just blown right by him. Probably off to continue to run from her problems like an idiot (literally). 

“We need to talk," he says.

She glances at him, but shakes her head. She’s definitely dressed for a run- which is genuinely ridiculous because practice must have just finished “I’m busy.”

“Griffin I’m fucking serious.”

Obviously she realizes that he’s not fucking around because she stops and looks at him. “What happened?”

He chooses to ignore the fact that she looks concerned.“You cannot expect my sister to spend all that time on the field," he says, "she’s got a full schedule of classes-“

Clarke just rolls her eyes. “She can handle it.”

“She’s running herself into the ground- she’s fucking exhausted, she got a D on a paper Griffin.” His voice is absolutely too loud, echoing off of the walls, it’s actually making her flinch. 

“Oh my God Bellamy stop fucking yelling," she says as she looks nervously at the closed doors around them. "This is what it is to be a student athlete okay? If she’s having a bad week it’s not on me.” She tries to walk past him again so he’s forced to hold is arm out- just inches away from grabbing her. 

“It is on you. You’re the captain, you’re her friend. All these extra workouts are your idea.”

Clarke frantically shakes her head. “If it was too much she would say something!”

“No, she wouldn’t!” he yells, “because she still feels like she’s trying to earn her spot on this team. She’s at my house right now bawling her eyes out because she’s so stressed out. My sister doesn’t cry Clarke, ever.”

He can see the guilt on her face, but it’s not enough. He needs to hear her admit that it's her fault, because he has to be angry with someone. “This is what it’s like Bellamy – this is the life she signed up for. It’s a lot of work. She can do it. She’s just struggling right now. We need to win, and this is how it has to be if we’re going to win.”

She’s staring at the wall over his head. He gets the feeling that she may not just be talking about Octavia and it’s that ridiculous sympathy he seems to have for her that makes him calm down.

“If she sheds one more tear over this, you and I are going to have a problem," he says, and then he turns around and storms from the lobby.

She doesn't exist to him- not her sad eyes or her fucking secrets. All he cares about is his sister. Thankfully she seems just as determined to avoid him- so for two weeks they exist in beautiful indifference. 

Until he fucks up.

As he stumbles up the stairs in that apartment building he's not supposed to know about- to the apartment he absolutely hadn't heard Octavia order pizza to the other night, he thinks about the many things about this situation that are so stupid he’s actually disappointed in himself.

1\. That his simple “hey let’s go get something to eat for Miller’s birthday” turned into what Octavia would call “douchefest” complete with a gruesome injury and the strong possibility that all three of them are featured on a parking lot security camera doing something that borders on vandalism.  
2\. That he allowed Murphy to try to scale that fence, knowing that the kid absolutely did not have the athletic ability to make it and would not be willing to foot the emergency room bill for his inevitable stitches.  
3\. That he listened to Miller’s drunken “Clarke can do it! She’s almost a doctor – and she’s a girl, they sew dresses and shit all the time. It cant be that hard!”

The way she was looking at him after answering his many knocks made him feel like he should have just tried to sew Murphy’s leg up himself.

“How the hell did this happen?” Clarke asks from the common area of her campus apartment- luckily her roommate was out at a boyfriend’s – so Clarke was able to spread down a bunch of towels for Murphy to bleed all over. She’s frantically digging through a medical kit- one so large only a crazy person would think it necessary. Her hair is French braided, an old high school softball shirt hangs down over shorts that are barely shorts – and Bellamy tries not to notice. “Bellamy!” she snaps at him when he doesn’t immediately answer, “what the fuck happened?”

“He fell off of a fence.” Bellamy says as Clarke cuts away the bottom of Murphy’s pant leg. 

“What kind of fence?” she asks. Bellamy just stares at her, “metal, wood, what?”

“Pickett fence over on Washington street,” Miller says through a mouthful of something he’d pulled out of Clarke’s fridge.

“Washington street?” she repeats – cleaning out Murphy’s wound as he twitches in pain, “you were drinking on the Mountain?”

“No,” Bellamy says, trying incredibly hard to mask his slur, “no we were drinking at the Drop Ship- we heard that someone in the apartments on Sandmine road was getting evicted, so we drove over there to see-“

She sits up and glares at him. “You were drinking and driving?”

“Fuck no,” he snaps, “Murphy wasn’t drinking.”

“Though I certainly fucking I wish I was,” Murphy hisses through his teeth.

“We found an old TV,” Miller continues , “thought it would be funny to throw it in Anya Forrester’s pool.”

Clarke stops and watches Miller dump the remains of a Chinese take out container into his mouth. “Why?” she snaps.

“Because she’s a bitch and we thought it’d be funny.” Bellamy says- because Miller starts to choke and Clarke doesn't look like she's willing to wait for an answer.

She shakes her head and starts to prepare a needle, “So he falls off of Anya Forrester’s fence and you don’t take him to the hospital because?”

“Because unlike you I’m not made of fucking money,” Murphy says. Clarke doesn’t answer, and Bellamy certainly doesn't correct him, but she’s not exactly gentle when she starts on the first stitch.

“SON OF A BITCH!”

“Shut up. I have neighbors.” 

She’s quiet through the rest of the procedure. Murphy isn’t- he calls her a litany of names and when Miller starts to laugh at him Murphy describes in detail how he plans to destroy every thing he owns. Bellamy keeps his feet planted firmly by the door- but lets his eyes wander around the apartment. There's a lot of art on the walls, could be her roommate's although he's gotten the impression that she's not around a lot. The furniture looks about a scrappy as theirs does, the little table covered in textbooks and Clarke's softball bag. He spots a blue plastic bag on the counter where Miller is trying to clean up spilled rice- he'd bet anything it's full of ice. She hadn't looked like she'd been sleeping when she answered the door.

By the end of it Murphy’s skin is three shades paler than usual and Clarke storms over to her kitchen sink to wash the blood from her hands. 

“We’ll clean these.” Miller says, clumsily grabbing the bloody towels, trying to be helpful.

“Don’t worry about it,” Clarke says, “I know how to get blood out.”

It sounds ominous enough to have all of them inching towards the door.

“So I don’t need to do anything else?” Murphy asks as he slowly to his feet. 

“You need to keep it clean and watch for infection. They’ll dissolve in a week or so. As long as nothing turns green you should be fine.”

“Turns green?” he panics.

She looks up at him with a glare, her hands still half in the sink. “It’s just two stitches Murphy – you’ll live.”

Murphy looks at her like she'd just insulted his mother, “Whatever- thanks," he grunts.

Clarke just nods at him and gets back to cleaning.

Miller looks worried- and Bellamy knows exactly what’s coming – so he motions for his roommates to gather their things and leave. Miller yells out a thank you and Clarke waves him off. The second the door slams behind them Bellamy takes a deep breath.

She slams something into the sink- the metallic thud is almost louder than her. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“Sorry we woke you Princess,” he snaps, “trust me it wasn’t my idea.”

“That’s not what this is about and you know it!” she walks back into the living room area and her glare intensifies, “scaling Anya Forrester’s fence – stealing a TV.”

“We didn’t steal it, once they put it out on the lawn it’s fair game.” he reminds her.

“You’re a grown man Bellamy – I don’t understand how you can be so fucking irresponsible.” She throws a dishtowel towards the already full table and tries to storm past him.

His head is starting to feel clearer- it probably has a lot to do with the anger. “I don’t understand what makes you think you have any right to call me irresponsible.”

She ignores him and starts to pick up the towels on the floor. “And bringing him here for me to stitch up like veterinarian at gunpoint in a mob movie.”

“We were having fun- something went wrong, it happens.”

“To children!”

He would have never guessed that this night would end like this, with Princess Griffin calling him a child. He doesn't handle embarrassment well, so he fully intends to slam her frontdoor so hard it breaks in half.

“I’m done," he says "I’ll remember to never ask for your help again.”

“THAT'S NOT THE POINT!” she yells- so loud that Bellamy actually jumps a bit. As soon as she realizes how loud it was, she covers her face with her hands. “You should just go,” she says, “let's forget this ever happened.”

The anger and embarrassment have faded to the background- he's faced again with her, and her burden, and his inability to not give a shit. 

“Clarke, it really wasn’t my idea to come here.” he says- more like himself than he's been since he walked in.

“I don’t care that you came here," she says. She sinks down onto the floor with the towels still clutched in her hands.

“Then what's going on?”

She shakes her head and then leans it back against the wall with her eyes closed, “Nothing.”

“Clarke, you were standing here fucking screaming at me.”

“Because I just- you know what, forget it. It’s not you, I’m just- I just need to get back to bed.” But he knows there's something, and it feels like predicting the ending halfway through a movie. He's gotta stick around and see if he's right. That- and leaving her alone feels like some form of abandonment- that is a direct violation of his brotherly impulses. 

“Why are you just standing there?” she asks when he hasn't moved.

“I feel like I shouldn’t leave.” he says. Drinking makes him honest and bullshitting with her is exhausting anyway.

“I want you to leave," she says through a sigh.

“I don’t believe you.” her eyes snap open, but she doesn't say a word.

“What is it?" he asks "Was prince Charming late for your carriage ride?” It was the first time he realized that Collin's wasn't here to rush out to her rescue. _Interesting._

She still doesn't say anything, so he takes a step closer, “Did a diamond fall out of your favorite tiara?”

He can see the anger in her face, but she turns away from him and squeezes her eyes shut. She's in pain. So much pain that she doesn't even notice him until he's crouched down right in front of her. His hand hovering over her shoulder.

“Shoulder?” he asks.

She smacks his hand away. “Your friends are waiting.”

She's right. He's being weird. So he stands up and straightens his sweatshirt.

“Stop being so stubborn Griffin." he says as he starts to walk out. "You’re too fucking talented to blow it all this soon.”

"Hey," she calls as he reaches for the door, "I talked to Marcus about practice schedules- especially with midterms. I'm sorry you had to see Octavia like that. It's nice that she has someone to go to."

He tries to find something in that to be offended by, but really he just feels sorry for her. "A lot of people would listen if you needed it Griffin. No use suffering on your own."

She lets out a sarcastic laugh and lays her head back again.

"Where's your boyfriend?" he asks.

"I don't want to drag him into this," she says.

"You don't want to drag him into the thing that consumes 80% of your life?"

She opens her eyes and smiles, "I know, lucky guy right?" 

He knows what she's implying. _I'm fucked up._

She's not really - she's being dramatic as fuck, but she's not fucked up.

"Call your boyfriend Griffin," he says, "or get a better roommate."

She nods- he thinks she might be falling asleep. 

"You gonna be alright?" he asks. 

She doesn't answer. Her head starts to nod forward. He wonders about the way she's been acting, maybe she'd taken something before they'd gotten there. Something that would have knocked her ass out that quick. Something she'd be better off leaving the fuck alone.

With a sigh worthy of a noble knight taking on the burden of a quest to rescue a Princess, Bellamy walks back towards her and crouches down again- this time lodging his arms under her knees and around her lower back. He rises to his feet gently- trying not to jostle her shoulder. Once he's got her up he looks around like an idiot. Putting her in her room is too much- he doesn't even know which is hers. He settles for a vacant spot in the corner of her couch, setting her down and tossing a blanket on her. He grabs the remote and flips the TV on, laying the remote down by her side. Maybe she'll forget that he had even been there.

It's unlikely- every time they try to avoid each other the universe only seems to ricochet them back towards the other. Maybe they were supposed to be friends. At least, that's the conclusion they both seem to come to. They chat when they run into each other. She occasionally comes along when Octavia visits. 

He follows her on Instagram.

 

In April, Clarke throws a no hitter against a team that had beaten them mercilessly in the playoffs the year before. It's an unbelievable game. She looks so happy after that final out that Bellamy feels like he's watching an entirely different person. 

The second the ball hits Monroe's glove behind the plate - and the entire crowd erupts into one massive cheer- Bellamy leans over to Miller. "We're moving Spring Cleaning up," he says, "make the calls. That girl is getting a fucking party whether she wants one or not."

Spring Cleaning was an annual shit show where they drank all the skunk beer and left over liquor while simultaneously digging out every piece of crap they'd accumulated over the winter- blow up boxing gloves, light sabers, a slip and slide they'd found at an old lady's yard sale. They were planning to have it next weekend - but this, this deserved something. Something like tequila, and waterballoons, and a lot of loud music. 

When he tells Octavia she agrees- quite enthusiastically.

So they rush home, start pouring liquor into punch bowls and beer into coolers. They light up the string lights for the first time since October. Murphy builds a bonfire out of old cardboard boxes and a chair they'd broken during the Superbowl. 

People show up as the sun starts to go down. Monty brings these speakers he swears could blast the paint off of walls- Miller gives him his ipod.....he's almost right.

Clarke doesn't come with the team- a few of which are already drunk when they show up. At first he's annoyed, because this was supposed to be a celebration of Clarke slaying her dragon - even though he was one of very few- if any- people who knew about that dragon, but then Octavia tells him Finn insisted on taking her out to dinner first. She even sends him a text message asking if they need anything.

He doesn't answer her- but he takes it as a sign to stop being angry and start drinking.

Jasper Jordan has taken over behind their make-shift bar. He's made a punch that he calls "Tequila moshpit," which leads pretty quickly to an elaborate slip and slid tournament among other dangerous things. 

Bellamy is standing ankle deep in mud, trying to help a girl find her bikini top when the music suddenly changes. A new song is being cranked out louder than he thought possible- so loud its probably shaking the windows of the crap shack across the street. It's familiar, but Bellamy can't really place it until he hears people start to cheer - and then the rush of meme's come back and he recognizes John Cena's theme song. Blaring trumpets and a thumping drum, and Poor Clarke Griffin standing right in the middle of the chaos as the beat drops- surrounded by people so much drunker than she's probably ever been.

Tequila Moshpit is basically poison. 

Of course that doesn't stop Bellamy from bringing her a glass of it when he finally fights his way through the crowd. Octavia has made Clarke a crown out of balloons, her other teammates have started a "GRIFFIN" chant, even Finn Collins manages to shake the wet blanket from his shoulders. Clarke's eyes are wide and unsure. Her smile is far too fragile to survive this night- so as he hands her the drink Bellamy leans into her. 

"You good?" he asks.``

Though he really doesn't intend to take no for an answer.

She looks up and realizes that its him, leans back in to whisper-yell into his ear, "Don't want to jinx it."

Bellamy looks at her like she's crazy. “You’re allowed to have some fun,” he says, “this is all for you.”

There's a chance he wouldn't have admitted that to her outloud had he not been three tequila moshpits deep- for everyone else it was unspoken. Griffin threw a shutout- they'd broken all of this out for less- but she was looking at him the way she sometimes did- and it made his face feel hotter than it already was.

"Relax Griffin," he says, "enjoy the win. I'll send someone with a drink for your boyfriend." He nods at Collins who is - once again- giving him side eyes and gets the fuck out of there before he can say anything else.

The next time he sees her she's removed everything but a bikini top, a pair of shorts, and her hat -which is so big where its turned backwards on her head that he doubts it's even hers. She's got a beer in one hand and a phone in the other- taking selfies with what looks like a small line of people. He takes her smile as a shut out win of his own and turns his attention to the girl who had been thanking him pretty thoroughly for helping her find her top.

It's all fun and games- and then he sees red on the slip and slide.

In a panic he pushes people out of the way- trying to hear screams of pain in the jumble of music and talking. All he finds is a shirtless, purple Jasper Jordan and a panting - less purple Monty standing with their arms raised while Octavia declared Jordan the winner. 

What ,from far away, had looked like a horrible, bloody end to their fun- turned out to be globs of some kind of paint dumped out onto the slip and slide. He wants to know what the fuck happened- just out of curiosity, but Kyle Wick catches his eye. He- with a dark blue splattered chest- has someone on his shoulders, blonde hair and a bathing suit covered in green, a ridiculously beautiful smile on her face, arms opened wide to whoever is talking to her. 

Somewhere behind her Murphy starts letting off the fireworks he'd found in his trunk. She doesn't even jump when the boom sounds- each fucking little spark seems to reflect off of her as she radiates a happiness he's never actually seen on a person before. He's not the only one staring- a lot of that has to do with the bathing suit that's not exactly securely tied around her, but somehow she manages to catch his eye. Her smile is still bright, those fucking fireworks are going off behind her like they're on some kind of fucking movie set. He winks at her- because he doesn't want to her to realize that in his drunken state, he's totally fucking speechless. 

As Wick announces her the Champ, and someone manages to get "We are the Champions" on the speakers, Bellamy discretely pours out what's left of his Tequila Mosh-pit and makes a mental note to grab a water. 

"Clarke had paints in her car," someone says from next to him, "she'll be pissed tomorrow. I'm pretty sure they were expensive."

He turns his head and Finn Collins is there, standing in the puddle of his drink. "Paint is paint." he says- to close the matter because he doesn't want to talk to Collins- least of all about the girlfriend he was just staring at.

"This is a lot," Finn says.

Bellamy nods at him, "Spring Cleaning- we do it every year."

"Thought that was next weekend?"

"Might rain."

"It's nice," he says, "that you'd do this for them. I know that team means a lot to you- because of Octavia."

Bellamy squares his shoulders and faces him, "Cut the shit Collins- you and I don't chat. Say whatever it is you want to say."

"Nothing to say," Finn said, "just wanted to thank you. She looks really happy." He doesn't look sincere- in fact he's all but asking Bellamy what the fuck his motives are for this, but Bellamy isn't interested in that conversation, that love triangle is that last place he wants to be.

"Don't worry kid, she's all yours," he says with a clap to his back.

He walks away from him and ignores whatever may have been yelled at his back. He needs water so he guzzles down two bottles. He sits and talks to Miller for a while, and a couple guys from the baseball team. Eventually he ends up on the front porch - chatting with a few smokers while people trickle out of the party. He thinks he sees Collin's pass, but doesn't pay much attention until the girl that had borrowed his lighter yells out a "Champ is here!"

Clarke Griffin turns and clumsily waves at her. She's wearing her t-shirt, but no shorts. He can see how green her legs are even in the darkness. With a mental _fuck you, Prince Charming_ he stands up and walks down the small concrete pathway to where she' s leaning against the mailbox.

“Bellamy!” she yells when she looks up and notices him.

“Drunk Clarke, "he nods cordially 

She shakes her head and points to herself. “I’m not drunk. I’m just- I’m happy, I’m so happy.”

He puts and arm out to steady her.“Trust me the tequila has a lot to do with that.”

Suddenly her head tilts to the side, and she smiles. “You like me.”

If he had been walking he probably would have tripped, “Come again?”

“You don’t want to, but you like me.”

“Says who?”

She shrugs, “Just a gut feeling. You shouldn’t feel bad, I like you too. I know you’re not really an asshole. Oh man- I’m feeling tired.” She starts to sit down on the lawn, but he grabs her around the waist to stop her. It's probably a disgusting muddy mess just like the backyard was.

“Don’t lay down here.” he says.

“Finn is getting his car- he’s going to take me home.”

His Big Brother instincts flare up again.

“Your home or his home?” he asks, as she leans into his chest.

She shrugs again.

“Has he been drinking?”

“Nope,” she says, “he’s a straight edge. He’s actually kind of pissed off that I’m drunk. Blames you.”

Straight edge his ass- that kid had been buying weed off of Murphy for months. 

“What the fuck else is new?” he says.

“Finn is alright,” she mumbles- almost like she's trying to defend him, “he’s incredibly sweet.”

He doesn't want to argue with her, so instead he just says “Good, he’d better be.”

She turns and wraps her arms around his middle- her forehead resting against his chest. “You can hug me back you know- no one is around to see.”

She's right, the smokers have all cleared out. The street is temporarily deserted. It would be awkward not to hug her back- so he wraps his arms around her and squeezes once, trying to keep this the kind of hug Collins wouldn't try to hit him for.

"It feels fine," she says against his t-shirt, "I haven't felt any pain in a week."

"Good." He means it.

"Thank you. For this- for everything."

If it came up tomorrow, he'd argue that he hadn't done any of it for her really, but he knows that isn't entirely true. 

"My pleasure Princess."

A car horn beeps and he steps away from her.

She left a green paint stain on his bathing suit- he wasn't even mad about it.


End file.
